


The Heart Grows Fonder

by angelgalling



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No IT (King), Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Connor Bowers/Richie Tozier, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pining, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Whipped, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Underage Drinking, stan stans these two so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24786724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgalling/pseuds/angelgalling
Summary: Richie plays too much Street Fighter one summer and stops hanging out with the Losers, leaving Eddie suspicious (and very much jealous). After seeing Richie's carving on the kissing bridge, he confronts Richie at the arcade about his recent behavior. Years later, the Losers graduate high school and make plans for one final party at Bill's, where Richie intends to change the course of his friendship with Eddie forever.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	1. Eddie

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you that read this fanfic: I love you. Please leave as many comments & kudos as possible to help me grow as a writer. No one beta'ed this so she is in her raw glory! This is the first fanfiction I've felt confident enough to upload so I hope it's as good as I want to believe it is.
> 
> If you want more Reddie bs, my tumblr is angelgalling and I would love some friends to chat with <3

It is beginning to feel like he’s dying.

Eddie noticed Richie was spending more time away from the Losers than he was spending with them but thought nothing of it. At first, Richie would just leave early on the days they hung out at the Quarry and would say it was by Went’s demand of something, or that Maggie needed help around the house. Eddie knew this made sense, could rationalize it, so he just shrugged off the initial absence he felt. Sure, Richie was never one to drop what he was doing for his parents, or anyone really, but people mature. These patterns (not that he was keeping track) eventually turned into Richie never showing up on days when the group planned to hang out at Bill’s, and eventually, he just never saw Richie at all. Being honest with himself, Eddie knew Richie’s head was stuck up Street Fighter’s ass, so the anxiety was easy to calm for a little while.

But this third week of Richie’s radio silence felt different-- almost a month since he had seen his best friend and the realization made Eddie turn awkwardly in the hammock. He felt unsettled, a feeling that Richie’s lanky legs would fill beside him, a Trashmouth joke would ease. Apparently, his absence is noticed by everyone, but it is Bev who pries for answers first. 

“Eddie, where’s Richie? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I feel like I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I don’t know, Bev. I’m not his keeper,” Eddie snaps. He notices the sour in his voice and continues, “probably playing Street Fighter like always.” Eddie never wondered before why he wasn’t invited but just assumed Richie didn’t want any distractions as he mastered being the world’s biggest nerd. A proper hobby to match those big fucking glasses.

“When I was heading to the library the other day, I passed him walking into the arcade with Connor Bowers. I guess they hang out now,” Ben says absently, more focused on a bird book with Stan than the conversation. 

Stan managed a small hum in agreement that ended their chat, and rightfully so. Bowers was a name that revived trauma in the Loser’s club that is best ignored, especially since last summer when Bowers attacked Ben with a knife to his stomach. Knowing one kid was capable of so much hate was something Eddie grimaces at. 

“Well, whatever he’s doing, he’s probably being a fucking idiot along with it.” 

Eddie is now officially annoyed, and if the Loser’s heard it in his voice, they didn’t say anything. As frustrated by everything as he is, Eddie mumbled  _ I’m going for a walk  _ and climbed out of the clubhouse. He walks aimlessly, coming out of his thoughts to swat at a bug or double-check the contents of his fanny pack. He’s looking for a distraction away from whatever he is feeling. The jealousy? But who is there to be jealous of? He probably just missed Richie, missed his dumb ass remarks and the space he fills. Eddie knew their friend group was not complete without all of them being together, so he was certain that’s all that’s going on with him. 

Right? 

He thinks about Richie throughout the rest of the walk, wondering why he is so upset that Richie had up and vanished. Usually he is so boisterous about his activities and where he’ll be, so what the hell changed? In his confusion, Eddie manages to march all the way downtown, and considering his location, why not check the arcade. He is allowed to go in too, right? Sure, the video game consoles are sticky from slushies and crusted over with dried boogers, but he could do it. If the Trashmouth was there, he’d prove it, too. He’d prove that he was a capable opponent for Street Fighter, tough enough to beat Richie’s ass, as someone desperately needs to. Hell, maybe he’d be quiet then.

Carefully stepping over the curb despite the anger in him, he looks up and through the front window to find Richie glued to the Street Fighter game as expected. He feels a pang of some kind in his stomach, something feral, as he watches Richie adjust his glasses and laugh with Connor Bowers beside him. The glare of the sun makes it impossible to know for sure if it was Connor, and to confirm, he steps into the arcade with purpose. He is still small for his age, but as he approaches an empty video console, he feels even smaller. He places his left arm on the console, intending to play, but is disgusted by the greasy feeling on his hand. 

As he opens his fanny pack for sanitizer, he faintly hears someone mention the Losers.

“Yeah, of course I still hang with them!” 

It was Richie, answering a question pointed at him by Bowers. Hyper-aware of the conversation, Eddie tucks away behind an arcade game in hopes he would not be seen. Through the excited haze of laughter and machine whirling, Eddie overhears Connor imply that the Losers were boring.

“Well, my good fellow, that’s the whole point! They are kooky to the finest degree, good pals they are.” And if it isn’t his response that consoles Eddie’s heart, it is the dumb English accent that plants a smile on Eddie’s face. Something you miss is not always something lost, but in this moment, he has never felt farther from Richie. He has no time to think of why, as Connor points another common toward Richie.

“I dunno man, it’s probably good you come here more, you’re too cool for them.”

Eddie sees Richie freeze, a tense pause in their hectic movement, but he continues on with a “damn right” and leaves the conversation there, beaten between the fists of their Street Fighter avatars. 

Stunned, Eddie stands up and scoffs. Whether Richie hears him or not is debatable. He is probably too absorbed in the game to care, standing close enough to Connor for Eddie to make a mental note.

Fleeing the arcade, he runs back the way he originally came from and eventually climbs back down into the clubhouse. Before he turns to walk into the Losers space, he makes a mental prayer that no one was there, but Bev is smoking on the hammock and smiles at him. A genuine one, with teeth unaffected from the nastiness of the cigarette in her mouth. The events of the last few weeks collided with him instantly.

So, he cries. 

It isn’t a full melt down, just a sob that bubbles from this heart and escapes his mouth. He shudders for a moment but contains himself enough to stand tall and whip the single tear on his cheek away.

Confused, Bev immediately puts out the cigarette and coos “what happened” to Eddie as she comes in for a hug. 

“No, no. Forget it, I’m fine. Just thought I lost my, uh, shoelace.” 

Bev lets go of Eddie, looking quizzically before asking: “your shoelace? You’re crying because you thought you lost a shoelace?”

“Yeah, ya know. Shoelaces are like seatbelts for your feet, and the shoes are the car. So, if I don’t have the safety I would like, realistically trip and die.”

“Uh-huh, sure” is her only reply. She goes back to the hammock and closes her eyes. Eddie isn’t sure what to do with himself or the silence. 

“When did Ben and Stan leave?”

“Oh, about ten minutes after you. I wasn’t really listening to why, something about a bird sighting in the book they were reading.” 

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, fucking nerds.” 

She laughs with a nod. Her face relaxes, but in a more serious tone, she asks: “speaking of nerds, did you see Richie while you were out?”

Enraged again at the mention of that no-good trashman, Eddie shakes his head. He wants to tell her that he had blatantly been ignoring them for Connor, who apparently thinks the Losers are too lame to be seen with. He wants to tell her that Richie hasn’t been over to his house in almost two weeks, and that he hasn’t been to his in almost one. There is so much he wants to tell Bev, but these facts would break her heart, too. Ostracized only for the cruel things the town said about her, she was just as much a Loser as the rest of them. 

“I just think he’s found cooler friends.” 

To this, she laughs. One big enough to echo outside of the clubhouse and into the breeze of this lonely summer.

“I’d hate to be the one to say it, but we’re the best people Rich will ever know.”

He crosses his arms and pouts, “Connor Bowers seems to disagree.” 

She sits up in the hammock, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

“I was on my walk, Bev!” His voice is loud and squeaky, which means it doesn’t reflect how angry he feels. “For whatever fucking reason, I walked to the arcade and overheard Connor Bowers telling Richie that he’s happy Richie doesn’t hang around us anymore. He said we’re not cool and Richie agreed, Bev. He agreed!”

He calmed his previous crying with a shoelace emergency but blew that cover seconds after this explanation to a now silent Bev. The hurt in his voice is all throughout his body, finally stopping at his heart. He had five other best friends, so why did this feel so sour? Maybe it’s a health-related thing. Has to be, right? He won’t tell his mom, obviously, but he will make sure to write it down somewhere to look out for in case this happens again, but it better not happen again or Eddie will fucking lose his--

“Eddie, breathe. Look at me.” He looks at Bev, right into her blue eyes and sees her concern. He relaxes, evens his breathing, and despite the several minutes it took to calm down, Bev is patient enough to continue the conversation.

“I don’t think he was agreeing, just entertaining. It’s what Richie does. I know he hasn’t been around in a while, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t his friends. He’s going to say what he can to impress Connor, just like he does to us.”

With Beverly’s comment, Eddie realizes he is overreacting. Knew it from the moment he left the clubhouse in the first place but knows even more so now with the shoulder fabric of Bev’s shirt wet with tears. Even Bill hadn't been around as much. Dramatically more than Richie had been, but still enough to call for some concern. So here he is, crying like a little bitch for no reason. Although, he wants to tell Bev that Richie doesn’t impress them, that he’s just loud, but his reaction alone is evidence against that. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Stupid Trashmouth and his people pleasing ass.”

“Yeah, to hell with him and his ass.”

For the rest of the evening, Eddie refuses to think about Richie’s ass. Instead, he and Bev talk and laugh and sit in the silence of dust. As Bev gets on her bike, Eddie hugs her and thanks her for everything. He is grateful for his friends, even the ones that aren’t right there. 

_____________________ 

The next day, all of the Losers have something to do that leave them separated for the afternoon. Mike had his family’s farm to tend to; Bev is with her aunt for the day; Ben at the library looking into the history of the mills around the area or some shit; Stan with some Jewish stuff; and Richie pretending nothing but Street Fighter exists. 

Bored as he is, he goes for another walk. The sunscreen he applies should keep him protected for about twenty minutes, so he cuts through the passing streets aimlessly. He thinks of something that Richie might say about protection from the sun (“the sun is the one that needs protection from my hot ass”) but refuses to think on the matter for longer. He does laugh though, and he knows he would’ve done the same if Richie were here to say it.

The way he thinks of Richie anymore is like he’s mourning someone that up and died, but he can’t seem to help it. He thought the old saying ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ really worked, but apparently, he stands corrected. He thinks of Richie more now that he isn’t around as much as he used to be, and it is frustrating as hell.

His adventure continues on uneventfully considering no one is around to annoy him. From his lack of entertainment, Eddie plans to walk into town and pass the kissing bridge to do so, and he swore to god if he saw anyone naked, he would lose his mind. One time, on his bike with Bill and Richie, they passed Greg Olson and Sarah Waters getting a bit too comfortable in the grassy area at the bottom of the bridge. Eddie was traumatized by the image and the number of bugs that had to be down there with them, sharing their body fluids, but Richie whistled and shouted his version of a congratulations. The mental preparation now is a requirement, simply another length he does to keep his sanity secure. Unlike Bowers, he would not let his mind run away from him.  _ Yeah, that’s a good metaphor. No more bat-shit thinking. Just cool, calm and collected. _

However, at the core of his being, Eddie was anything but. 

He approaches the kissing bridge and runs across, worried it might cave in on him at any second. He knows he’s small, as well as the likeliness of the bridge collapsing with only his weight on it, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. Not when he has plans thinking of walking into town and getting a sweet ass ice cream cone. Shit, maybe he would pick up his medicine from Kneene while he was out.

The carving doesn’t stand out to him until after he passes it the first time. He barely paid any attention to the engravings on the bridge before but investing in the drama would be a better way to spend his time than to absently walk on. Besides, a giant fucking heart caught his eye. So, he walks back toward the image, stopping only after he thinks  _ Curiosity killed the cat.  _ But he has already turned around to see the image in full.

Eddie could barely comprehend what he was looking at. Sonia Kaspbrak would argue that he is the smartest boy in all of Derry, but right now, he couldn’t tell you his own fucking name. He genuinely doubts his own name. He looks around to make sure there is no one in sight and moves closer to the wooden railing of the bridge. What he thinks he saw is confirmed with the added proximity of his body. For all her worrying, his mom may have forgotten to fret over his eyes because what the fuck is he actually looking at. 

One lopsided heart with  **_R+E_ ** carved into the center. 

He stares at it for a while and wonders about all of the people in this town whose names begin with the corresponding letters but gives up after realizing they are all empty assumptions. Or, maybe those guesses don’t hold the weight he wants them to. 

Because Eddie has been missing Richie, more than Bev or Bill or any of the Losers. He misses his dorky glasses and the obnoxious voices. Those Hawaiian shirts on the rack at the mall have always given him a feeling he could never explain, and now he wonders if he has been blind this whole time. Like, really needing to see a doctor, because something has been brewing under his nose for a long time. The smell of cinder and sweat and an annoying teenage kid whose lanky arms reach just high enough at the pharmacist to get the candy on the top shelf.  _ Why the fuck are they that high up anyway?  _

Maybe in the weeks leading up to Richie’s absence, Eddie’s feelings became transparent? None of it matters anyway, considering Richie is too cool now. He always was. Brave and funny and all of the things Eddie will never say to his face. He’ll die before then. He’ll gargle piss or bathe in acid before he vocalizes the feelings he’s ignored for so long. Those days on the hammock, the longing-- all muted by a quick joke. 

He doesn’t remember when he decides to pick up a rock to carve into the wood. He doesn’t remember making a similar outline of a lopsided heart and he certainly doesn’t question the  **_R_ ** he places in the center. Doesn’t flinch when the rock, after being tossed, hits the ground with a thud, doesn’t feel guilty as he walks away. He just heads back toward town, reminding himself over and over that it could be a misunderstanding, that the heart could have been the initials of someone else, for someone else. He laughs to himself all the way to the pharmacy, and to get ice cream.

He doesn’t remember deciding to stop at the arcade. 

______________________

Ice cream eaten, medicine in his fanny pack and stomach in knots, Eddie opens the arcade door and is greeted with the smell of popcorn and high-pitched laughter. Richie stands alone at the Street Fighter game and does not turn to see who walked in. The other kids in the room care less about Eddie and more about their own worlds, trapped behind screens. Eddie is grateful for their distraction and stands tall as he walks over to Richie. Sure, he can be independent of the group, but to ignore them entirely? Eddie is sick of this shit. 

“Richie.” 

The younger boy gives one quick glance behind him. His tongue is out in concentration and he smiles just slight enough to let some teeth show. 

“Whatcha doin’, Eds? Come to watch me kick my high score in the ass?” 

“No,” Eddie walks closer, “I came to kick you in the ass.” 

His comment must throw Richie off because one slip of his hand and the character he’s playing as goes for a punch that the computer opponent blocks, leaving the opponent to knock Richie’s avatar to the ground. He brings his arms up and frustration and drops them back down to his side in frustration.

“What the hell did I do, Eds. Worth killing my streak over?”

No time for shits and giggles, Eddie rips the metaphorical band aid right off. 

“Where have you been, jackass? The Losers have been asking about you.” His own troubles go unspoken, as planned. That will always be the plan.

“I told you jackasses that my plans for the summer were eat, sleep, and Street Fighter. Gotta work on my sweet moves here so I can show your mom later.” Richie comments with a wink so nonchalant, Eddie wonders if he’s been practicing that, too. 

“Yeah, well, never thought to invite the rest of us, asshole?” 

“I didn’t think the rest of you wanted to watch me play a video game. No hard feelings here, man.” 

Eddie steps closer and straightens up, all in the effort to show how pissed he is.

“That’s the problem: you didn’t think. I know you think we’re not cool enough for you anymore, but at least have the balls to say that to our faces instead of Connor Bowers, of all fucking people.” 

Richie stands still. Confusion is visible on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Mainly because he isn’t given the chance. 

“You don’t even have to hang out with us, a fucking call would be nice. ‘Hey, Eddie, I haven’t died a dramatic death or moved away, just too self-absorbed to give a damn about you or the others. Have a nice life.’ See, Rich, was that so hard?” Eddie shouts, unintentionally, causing someone in the room to laugh and mutter “lovers quarrel” under their breath. Now panicked, Richie storms off past Eddie’s small frame and leaves the arcade. 

_ Oh, hell no he doesn’t. _

Eddie is out the door and grabbing his arm in a second. With the tension between them growing stronger with the addition of an audience, Richie turns and yanks his hand way. 

“Well fuck, Eddie, I didn’t know I had to report to you. Should I call the Mrs's, too? Tell her I have to cancel on our beautiful evening because Eddie Bear needs his dose of Richie’s attention?” 

The frustration in his voice is showing now, and of course it’s coated in enough sarcasm to overflow the sewers of Derry. Sarcasm is the only language Richie knows-- the cushion to his bullshit. Eddie thought he could handle it, really assumed after all these years he could manage the corny jokes in serious situations, but he’s had enough. 

“Richie, can you stop making jokes for one fucking minute?” He has to take extra steps to keep up with Richie, now walking away, to keep this conversation alive.

“No,” he yells. His own anger now shows in the way he halts in place. “Because the other option is to cry and face my feelings and fuck that shit.” 

Eddie stops mid-step and thinks to ask Richie whether or not winter in Derry came early this year because he is fucking frozen in place. The kid before him does not have a serious bone in his body, so to see him like this--well, Eddie isn’t a huge fan. 

Richie’s face is red, and his eyes are glossy from the formation of tears.  _ Just let them go.  _ He wants to tell Rich to cry, something he knows the taller boy doesn’t do much of but doesn’t have the courage.

Fuck, he barely has the courage to dissect this conversation anymore.

“What the hell does that mean?” 

Richie laughs. “What the fuck do you think it means, Einstein? I’m emotionally constipated. I need to take a nice, emotional shit but I am too scared I’ll, I don’t know, bust the toilet and the water will ruin the whole fucking house!” 

And if he wasn’t lost before, someone give this kid a compass because what the fuck?

“Rich, emotions are normal, you fucking idiot. Were you born under a rock or something you barbaric asshole?” 

Richie sighs and his shoulders slump. As he looks to the ground, he mumbles a faint “don’t call me an asshole,” which signals Eddie’s fight or flight response. 

The tone, the body language, it all reminds him of the version of himself that walks into his home to be greeted by his mother. This boy, taller than the height it would take to reach heaven, has been beaten back down to Earth. Eddie wants to know who did it because he can now confirm this is not normal. 

“Was it Bowers? Richie, I will kick his ass so hard, I’ll have to walk around with him as a shoe and I mean it I’ll--”

“What are you on about?” Richie picks his head up, now grinning. “Eds, I hate to break it to you, but you’re so small I could put you in my fucking pocket.” When Eddie doesn’t laugh, Richie continues.

“No one did anything to me, not directly anyway. You don’t need to go bite anyone on the ankles, you little chihuahua.”

Eddie smiles instinctively, shoves Richie, and begins to walk past him. Signally that Richie should follow, he turns to say, “don’t call me that.”

Richie, with that shit eating grin asks: “What Eds or chihuahua?”

From all of this, the momentum is back. They walk in silence for a while, sharing stories about their week and bickering back and forth like they always do. Whatever animosity Eddie held toward Richie has dissolved; although, he’s still thinking about the real reason behind Richie’s previously glossed eyes and his overall absence. He wonders if Rich needed that push from his video game back to the real world, where his friends have been waiting for him for what feels like a lifetime.

“If you want to go back to the arcade, you can. I don’t want you to keep anyone waiting.” Eddie says it so quietly he thinks his voice may just be a breeze. The afternoon sun is settling down, and for the first time in his life, he really doesn’t give a shit about applying his sunscreen. Something in this moment feels bigger than that. Maybe he wants a resolution to this one-sided bickering so things can go back to normal.

Eddie’s own realizations will never allow this friendship to go back to normal because it's so hard to forget about those feelings when Richie Tozier is finally walking beside him, close enough to bump into him every once in a while. 

“Nah, I’m good. Probably won’t see much of Connor anymore. Apparently, he was just in for a little while to hang out with his fucking weird ass family.” 

Eddie lets the sweet bliss of relief wash over him.  _ Fuck yeah, he’s gone! _ He tries not to smile in Richie’s direction, so takes interest in a mailbox to his left, one covered in weeds. 

“Eds, about back there,” he trails off. Eddie is stunned, because for the first time in his life, Richie doesn’t know what to say. “I never once thought you guys weren’t cool enough for me, just fyi.” 

“Well it felt like it. You don’t have to be up our asses, but a hello now and again would be nice.”

Richie beams. “I want to be up your ass, most definitely.” Eddie smacks his arm and will be damned if Richie seems him blush. 

“Fucking Trashmouth.”

They walk in silence for a little while longer, finally making it back to Eddie’s house as the streetlights buzz on. Now that he has Richie back with him, Eddie is reluctant to go inside with his mom and her stupid soap operas. He knows he has to, so reluctantly, he turns to look at Richie from the top of his porch. 

“Richie, I swear to god I’ve I don’t see you tomorrow I will break your fingers so you can’t play that god forsaken video game.” 

With a pout, Richie says “but Eds, if you break my fingers, how will I satisfy Mrs. K?”

Opening his screen door, Eddie says “Beep Beep, Richie.” 

Richie, happy as ever, skips away shouting “you’re gonna see so much of me you’ll wanna hurl.” 

Eddie knows that could never be possible. 


	2. Richie

Richie wakes up in the best mood of his entire life. Pizza boxes are all over the floor, he’s got dried jizz on his hands, and in ten hours he’ll be a high school graduate. He knows this isn’t nirvana, but for Richie Tozier, it’s damn well as close as it’s going to get. The prospect of sweet freedom is on his mind, and once he gets that diploma, his sweet ass, eighteen-year-old self is getting as far away from the state of Maine as possible. Fuck, he’d leave the whole planet if it meant putting enough miles between him and Derry as possible. As a matter of fact, fuck New England in general, and the whole east coast. Fuck the Atlantic Ocean and snowy winters and evergreens. 

Fuck Richie Tozier, as he’s about to be late to the Barrens.

He jolts up like grease lightening and gets to his dresser, picking out the first shirt that doesn’t smell like ass or the Derry High School wrestling locker room. He was in there to take the athletic yearbook photos and not even God himself could drag him back in there. After the sniff test, Richie reaches for his bahama swim trunks and heads to the bathroom for the Richie branded ‘shit, shower, and shave.’ Granted, he has very little facial hair to constantly shave, today he notices the stubble immediately, and hates that he already looks like a forty-year-old man. 

He scrubs his hands, erasing any evidence of his extracurricular nighttime activities, and bolts it outside to his bike. The trusty thing has gotten him all around this town for the past seven years, and if one thing is for sure, he won’t be here much longer to use it so extensively. The truck Went got him on his sixteenth birthday is of the kickass variety: cherry red exterior and suede seating that is meant for the asses of kings. Only on a select few occasions has the truck been driven, posing his father to wonder why he got his son the truck at all, but those moments were more worth it than his own life. 

All of the memories made in the truck were with the Losers, going as far as New York City, giving Eddie an asthma attack and Bill and Richie the time of their lives. The ride was long, about seven hours, but the weekend spent there was off the charts. So many people and sights to see, so much action and adventure, all brought on by the big city lifestyle. He was addicted, Eddie had to bitch for a whole hour about getting home on time so his mom didn’t freak out and realize they left the state altogether. Richie rode the high of that trip for months, helping him close out the spring semester of their junior year of high school with a bang. As he pedals toward the Barrens, he finds it hard to believe that was over a year ago. Now, the Losers are meeting up to plan their high school graduation celebration.

When he gets there, the half-assed attempt to fix his hair before leaving the house goes unnoticed, as the wind whipped it from here to hell and back on his ride over. He flops his bike down as he walks toward the clubhouse entrance and already hears bickering from below.

“I knew it, I fucking knew this would happen.” 

He hears Eddie’s frantic voice first, and finally in the clubhouse that feels too small for him, comments:

“Knew what would happen, Eds? Did you finally grow your first pube?” 

The rest of the group snickers, and their smiles makes Richie love them more and more. Maybe something good did come out of this town. His friends are the best people he will ever know. Richie knows damn well he is a lucky son-of-a-bitch. Maybe too lucky. 

“Fuck you, Rich. I knew you were going to be late. We’ve been waiting for like ten minutes.” Eddie looks at him from the other side of the clubhouse. He’s outgrown those delicious red shorts he used to wear and graduated into a pair that fits a little longer, but take some, you get some. Now longer, but amazingly tighter. Richie can already see that God is meaning to make a man out of the young Kaspbrak yet. 

“Sorry, my darling,” he says with an accent and then switches back to his normal voice, “I was wiping your mom down after the incredible evening we had last night.” 

“Beep Beep, Richie,” mutters everyone in the clubhouse. 

“Well, let’s get down to business, I guess. Bill, we can still party at your house right?” Mike, finally relieved from the farm to have a bit of fun, asks from the hammock. 

“Yeah, my p-pa-parents are out of town the weekend after graduation. Something about dad’s b-bus-business, I guess.” Good Billiam, always taking one for the greater good of fun. 

“Bevvie, are you still able to get us some booze?” Mike, so organized. Richie’s heart swells. 

“Jeez, Bike Mike, you’d make a perfect wedding planner. Can I call when I finally get the courage to ask Mrs. K?”

Eddie throws something from across the room, missing Richie completely. 

“Can it, dickhead, my mother has standards.” 

Before he can reply, Bev says, “Booze are taken care of, boys.”

“Ahh, yes, no need to fret my young alcoholics, for I also have a bit of the good juice!”

Richie, like clockwork, interjects every ten seconds. Maybe he’s an attention whore for the people in this room, but it’s all in good intention. He loves to see the Losers laugh with him, or at him. He who has tried weed on several occasions, loves the high of his friends’ laugh more than anything. He’s got a favorite laugh, one he homes in on, but tries not to be so obvious when he’s hearing it. 

Eddie Kasprbak is so worried of death and illness and disease, but the inconsiderate prick has never stopped to realize that he will be the end to Richie Tozier. Even more so when he’s out of line, or when Eddie is checking up on him, or when Richie is in a bad mood and Eddie mends his feelings with a smack to the arm or a reciprocated joke. He loves all of his friends so much it hurts; yet, there is something about Eddie so different it makes him want to scream it from Derry rooftops for all of the homophobes to hear. Something along the lines of: “Yeah, assholes, I’ve been gay for my best friend for five years but I’m too much of a chicken shit to say or do anything about it.”

It’s the differences that made him carve their initials into the kissing bridge a few summers ago. Why he stopped talking to Eddie that summer because he was having a gay moment of realization and thought he would be seen from a mile away, the homo flame following behind him. Honestly, this problem may be a miracle, as it proves that the trashmouth extraordinaire can at least be quiet about something. 

Quiet, however, is not the vibe the Losers need today. They want loud and exotic and cheerful because they are finally adults, which means the town they are in can no longer control them. So, they vow to get a little fucked up on the alcohol (except Eddie) and laugh a bit too loud and maybe watch a fucking movie or something, who knows. The party is closed to the public, not that anyone would want to come to a Losers party anyway, so everyone agrees to bring no guests and especially no parents. Richie has a few tricks up his sleeve, as always, but for more personal reasons. He’s gotta build some false courage somehow, so as they’re all drunk out of their minds, Richie wants to maybe kiss Eddie. 

He’s been thinking about it for the past two years. He was passing over the kissing bridge with Bev, Ben, and Stan behind him when he came up on the engraving he made in commemoration of his big homosexual feelings for Eddie. They all passed rather nonchalantly, but Richie knew he saw a carving there that wasn’t there before. Sure, someone else could have professed their love too, but Richie had to make sure it wasn’t something related to him. Even after the past few years he’s spent thinking about the small **_R_** carved in a heart near the one he made, he still hasn’t decided if it was for him. Could have been for Rodney Lough, a grade older than the Losers and lived down the street from Ben. Or meant for Rachel Hart, who left Derry a few years back with her dad after her parents’ nasty divorce. Fuck, maybe someone has a dog named Rover and wanted to make a shrine dedicated to it.

Richie believes in his optimism; therefore, he’s gonna make a big fucking idiot out of himself before he leaves this town for good. If he hasn’t already, cause his black painted nails and eccentric style have been threatening to give him away for years. As a matter of fact, he’s surprised none of the Losers have said anything, but then again, he guesses none of them would be up to date on gay trends. Their lack of suspicion could be because he’s also kissed a girl here and there and liked it. Richie knows that’s called bisexuality and wants to tell them that matches his feelings perfectly but is so fucking scared of their reaction. He worries their feelings to him will project just like Bowers did when his cousin was home, calling him a faggot after they played Street Fighter together for those few weeks. Richie knows he’s an idiot for liking a Bowers boy, but fucking sue him, ya know? 

“Rich, what are you thinking about? You’ve been quiet.” Bev’s tender concern knocks him out of his tumultuous thoughts.  _ Why the fuck couldn’t it be her? Loving her would be so easy.  _ Richie knows he wouldn't be the only one competing for her affections, so his natural instincts probably told him to run in the other direction-- right into Eddie. 

“Bev, did you have to say something? I could hear myself thinking for once.” Stan interjects. Eddie laughs from across the room and nods. That stupid smile of his sparks a flame in Richie.

“Staniel, I’ll remember this moment when you’re drunk tonight and need my strong manliness to carry you home.” 

“We’re staying at Bill’s so it doesn’t matter,” Eddie rebuttles, “but I would love to see your gangly arms pick up anything heavier than a gallon of milk, Trashmouth.” 

Richie pauses and sees an opportunity. “Oh, Spaghetti, you’re on.” 

Since he shot up like a weed over the years, it only takes Richie a few charged steps to get to Eddie, surprising the boy as he turns around from changing the radio station. With a laugh, Richie picks Eddie up over his shoulder all while Eds shrieks in disgust. 

“Put me down you asshole,” he bangs on Richie’s back with a fist, “you smell like eggs, you fucking weirdo.” 

Riche laughs as he carries Eddie throughout the clubhouse, careful to dodge any of the make-shift pillars and Losers in the audience of their moment. Richie is happy with the point he has proven, as he wasn’t very confident he could lift Eddie up in the first place. However, won’t this be a nice fact to know for his sexy daydreams for later. Richie, picking an accepting Eddie up off of the ground to pin him to a wall, Eddie being carried bridal style over the threshold of their new house. These all sound so good he stops paying attention to the boy in his hands and more to the dick in his pants. 

He’s snapped out of his dreams when Eddie, ever the screamer, yelps “put me down asshole you almost hit my head.” 

Richie does as requested, finally letting the brown-haired boy down from his grasp. As he was over Richie’s shoulder, his shirt rode up and lowered only when Eddie tugged it back down.  _ Oh yeah, definitely saving this for later.  _

“Are you two done yet or should we go?” Stan points his question to either of them while sounding unamused with their antics.

“No need, Stan my boy, as I have a room already waiting for Mrs. K and I. Spaghetti, a quickie before your mom?” 

“Beep Beep, Richie.” Again, the whole group sings in union. But not Eddie, he just huffs and walks over to Mike, telling him his ten minutes are up. Richie nervously adjusts his glasses and wonders if he really took his comment too far. Besides, why did Stan’s comment sound so sexual? Yeah, everything Richie says is oriented that way, but why does this feel different? Does he know? Was it that obvious?  _ Shit, do I have a boner? _ Richie looks down in a panic and is relieved to see that he is as flaccid as the first day he saw Eddie’s mom.

The world continues to work in his favor. Richie wonders how long that will last. 

_________________________

For it being categorized as one of the most successful moments of his young adult life, this graduation is boring as hell. Richie pretends to nod off a few times as random kids from his graduating class are being called to the front to walk across the stage. He only pays attention when a select few letters are called, the letters of his best friends’ last names, and zones out for the rest of the time. He thinks of the west coast or the midwest or really anywhere that doesn’t have such a dull aura as this hell pit. He’s happy though because he knows this is the finish line. He’s watching as Bill walks across the stage, the first of the Losers to be called, and rightfully so as he is the leader of their pack. Mike, the second one of them to walk, waves to his grandparents in the bleachers. He smiles as he watches them wave back, so supportive of the boy they’ve raised since the fire that took Mike’s parents. Next is Ben, who smiles up at his parents from the stage and trips past the principal, cowering away in embarrassment as he walks back toward his seat. Mike reaches out for a high five as Ben passes to ease the pressure off of him.

The letters between H and K pass in a blur to Richie. This next row of kids is the one he’s been waiting for. Eddie has never been a spotlight kid-of-guy, never wanted more attention on him than necessary, especially from people he didn’t feel comfortable around. Everyone knows Richie feeds on the spotlight like a leech, so he wants nothing more than to stand up and cheer for Eddie as he walks across the stage, but he doesn’t. He just watches him shake the principal's hand, grimace from the touch, and walk off the stage back to his seat. Richie hates that he’s in the middle row and can’t reach out to his friends like Mike can, but he’s nervous even thinking about what he would do if he were. If he could have it his way, he would congratulate Eddie by planting a fat one right on his lips, but he’ll save that for his dreams. This evening, perhaps, if he has the balls.

Beautiful Bev crosses the stage not long after, moving with pride toward the principal and shaking his hand with vigor. She doesn’t look up at her dad, but Richie does, and the fucker isn’t even clapping. Every bone in his body beacons him to fight, but he resists. Richie has wished every night since he learned about Bev’s dad that karma would light his ass on fire, and he knows that day will come with time. As he waits for the T’s to stand, he thinks about irony. How people that want to love freely are the ones damned but those who are full of hate can shit it out of their mouths without a second thought. But that’s what Derry does: it protects the sour and curses the sweet. 

Yeah, Richie is fucking hungry. 

As they call his row, he stands and realizes he is the tallest of them all. Of course he is, this stature draws people in when his classy attitude cannot. He sees the Losers that already walked looking back at him and he gives them the ‘rock on’ hand motion before making his way to the stage. Thank god it’s a dense crowd because he has every intention of looking at Eddie the whole time. He flashes an award-winning smile to his parents before turning back to lock eyes with Eddie, who looks cute as hell in his graduation cap. His face is getting red, either from the heat in this gymnasium or because Richie really doesn’t take his eyes off of him. Normally, he is not a silent flirter, so this is the quietest Richie will ever be with his endearment. He just wants to look at that boy, celebrate that boy, memorialize that boy. 

When it’s his turn to shake the principal’s hand, he does so with as much grace that he can muster. 

“Glad to see you here, Tozier,” says their principal, a stocky man whose name Richie forgot his first day as a freshman. 

“Thanks, happy to never be here again,” and he descends down the stairs and back to his seat. If he winks at Eddie as he moves between the aisles, well, that’s his business. 

The final loser to graduate is Stanley. For whatever reason, his parents wanted him to wear his Kippah as he graduated, but Stan had always been made fun of for it and wanted this moment to be as painless as possible. So, Richie intervened.

After Stanley’s name is called, Richie cheers “Yeah, Stan the Man!” and got annoyed looks from the crowd. Stan’s cheeks light up instantly and the other Losers laugh, as well as some of their classmates. Richie has nothing to lose. What, were they going to come down here and take the diploma from him because he cheered for a friend? He really would love to see them try. His friends were the glue that held his crumbling ass together, and this graduation is the longest Richie’s behaved in his life. The festivities are just beginning. 

The Losers get a group picture together after the ceremony and Richie demands he stand by Eddie. Both to appease his appetite of Eddie’s touch and to piss Mrs. K off as much as humanly possible. 

“Rich, you, uh, actually smell good for once,” Eddie commented as they stood together for the photo. 

Without thinking, Richie looked down at Eddie and smiled, the camera flashed, and Richie ruined their serine moment with “yeah, your mom said the same thing when I had her in the bathroom earlier.” 

Eddie is flush as he walks toward Mrs. K, who is demanding he get in the car to wash up after his big day. Richie knows she means to clean off the touch of that “dirty boy,” but let her think that. Let her think Richie is the worst thing that happened to Eddie even though she is the one that smothers him. Smothered to the point the poor kid still uses an inhaler years after realizing he doesn’t have asthma. Sonia ruins every good thing that comes her way, especially the boy she is supposed to love and properly care for unconditionally. The boy he loves. 

Yeah, Richie is whipped. 

_________________________

An hour before their celebration, Eddie stops by Richie’s house to help carry some beer and other stuff to the truck. Everyone intends to spend the night at Bill’s so the boys pack the truck with the goodies and hang out before the party really starts. Richie offers Eddie some comics to read while he makes brownies of the illicit kind, and Eddie entertains himself without being suspicious of Richie’s baking. The ingredients were simple: some eggs here, some vanilla extract there, some other shit that Richie didn’t care about, and flour. Richie knows Eddie hates being a mess, so he resists the urge to throw the white powder at him.

And he fails miserably. 

His brain is telling him one thing as his arm does another and the flour flies from his hand directly at Eddie’s face. 

They both pause. Eddie’s mouth is hanging wide open and flour falls from his face to cover his shirt more. The comic in his hand is a glossy material so it will be fine, but Eddie looks like he’s going to stand up and kill the only person in the room. 

Richie, amused, says “hey Eds, you got a little something right here” and makes a circular motion around his face. 

Eddie snaps his jaw shut, huffs, and pounces. Despite his height never advancing much after fifteen, Eddie is on Richie as fast as lightning strikes a tree. Richie has no time to refill his hand of flour for ammunition, but also doesn’t think to grab the bag so Eddie doesn’t get any. Instead, he runs away, but not fast enough that Eddie can’t lock and load the flour into his hand and throw flour at the back of Richie’s head. 

He just laughs, intrigued that Eddie didn’t miss like with whatever he threw in the clubhouse earlier. Richie is never going to hear the end of this when they settle down, and that’s okay, because his best friend is laughing with him and cursing him out and Richie is enjoying their time together. Richie is floating. Like a balloon heading to the stratosphere. In this metaphor, when he looks down, he can see Derry becoming just a dot in the grand scheme of this shitty world. He wants to hover here forever, just beyond the reach of unnecessary hatred, but he comes crashing down when he trips over a shoe. Behind him, Eddie trips as well, spilling the flour in his hand, and landing sprawled across Richie like a rag doll. 

They just breathe for a few seconds, and Richie breaks the silence. 

“Eds. not that I don’t love this position, but we’ll be late if I don’t finish these brownies.” Eddie stands up but doesn’t offer a hand to Richie. Which is okay since he’s probably going to start on about hygiene concerns and cleaning up and ‘Rich, you parents are going to kill you because the house looks like your bedroom now.” 

But he doesn’t. The smaller of the two just sits down at the table again, not picking up the comic book, but sitting and looking absently away from Richie as he puts the brownies in the oven. The lack of the wit coming from the other boy scares Richie, so he turns. Immediately, Eddie looks up.

“What did you mean that day, outside of the arcade?”

Confused, Richie stands still, only placing a quizzical hand on his chin for effect after a moment has passed.

“Uh, Spaghetti, you’ll have to be a bit more specific here.”

“The day I stormed in and said I was going to kick your ass. Connor wasn’t there playing Street Fighter with you. What did you mean when you said you didn’t want to face your feelings?”

Here it is: the million-dollar question. Richie thought they would avoid it like the plague, but apparently Eddie has been sick with it all these years. Like Richie, he thought his best friend would pretend the whole thing didn’t happen, that those weeks spent away from his friends would be forgotten to the walls of the arcade. But no, nothing is a secret in this town: not divorces, not break-ups, and especially not gay kids. Diverge from the norm and Derry will set its claws into you and never let you go, it will make you suffer and squirm and love every second of it. That is the exact thing that is happening now, the claws are digging in sharper to maximize the pain. Richie feels outside of his own skin, like he’s watching the exact moment when someone else’s life will fall apart. ‘Yeah, movie actor, why did you say that you don’t want to confront your feelings for your best friend, especially after you got rejected by the cousin of your lifelong bully?’

This is when the universe stops playing on Richie’s team. The universe has up and left the game altogether, leaving other elemental forces to fuck Richie in the ass. 

“Um, I was going through a crisis, is all. Ya know, the torture of teenage adolescence!” Richie tries to say it with banter but instead sounds deflated. 

Eddie just nods for a moment, not focusing his eyes on anything but Richie, who feels uncomfortable under his relentless stare. 

Finally, Eddie breaks the silence. 

“You know you can tell me whatever happened, right? A crisis that drove you from your friends isn’t anything small. Like, I am always here for you--” 

Richie cuts him off with a sharp “I can’t tell you this” and turns to the oven timer to calculate how much longer this torture will last. After a minute, he adds “I’m not drunk enough yet.” 

Eddie, the mother that he is, puts on the sternest voice of his life. “Richie, you shouldn’t need to get drunk to talk about stuff, especially to the Losers. Especially me.” 

“But that’s the problem,” Richie is shouting now. He’s sure a vein in his neck will burst any second, “I can’t tell you because it involves you.”

Eddie’s face shows he’s more confused now than ever. Richie knows he needs to tell him, has known since he walked home that night feeling more drained than he had in years. 

“Eddie, I’ll explain if you promise me something.”

Eddie snaps his head and nods, “anything.” 

Richie Tozier, trashmouth extraordinaire, wishes he never had vocal cords in the first place. He wishes he would have been born without this center-stage personality and is so close to praying to a God he’s not sure he believes in for just another minute of normalcy with his best friend. He will no longer have Eddie after this, he’s sure of it. Trashmouth thrashing up his whole life, how poetic. 

He sighs and leans against the countertop, knowing he’s going to need the strength of 1000 suns to get this one right.

“Okay so long story short I got to thinking, and I know ‘haha Richie you should never do that’ right well I couldn't stop so one day after we all hung out I went to the arcade and Connor was there and my brain started thinking again because it is fucked and I just started talking to him because I thought he was cu--cool and next thing I knew I really enjoyed his company but more than that, I think. I thought by latching onto him it would get me off your back, but I fucked up, like I always do, and Bowers called me a fag and I never spoke to Connor again.” He’s out of breath when he finishes and refuses to look up at Eddie. 

The seconds add up between his confession make his heart speed up. He wants to get hit by a train. 

“Wait,” he flinches at the sound of Eddie’s voice, “so what was the crisis that started the whole thing.” 

Tear rolling down his face, he whispers “realized I was bisexual.” 

Eddie, immediately asks “what does that mean.”

Head snapping up, already in defense mode, Richie belts “it means I wouldn’t mind dick or puss in my mouth, man.” 

Eddie looks at him for a moment, eyes wide. Richie wants to give him a second to process but the rejection will be too much. He pushes his chair back with his legs, planning to flee, when Eddie stands up, too. 

“Woah there, Rich, I’m not mad. Was just connecting the dots,” is Eddie’s remark. He steps toward Richie, who has finally stopped shrinking into himself, and says the unthinkable. 

“Honestly, kinda glad.”

“Why the fuck would you be glad?”

“What, you think this is only hard for you?” Richie wants to make a rebuttal along the lines of ‘what your dick? God, I sure fucking hope so’ but bites his tongue. 

Eddie starts his confession as a whisper.

“That day, when you were at the arcade and everyone else was busy, I went for a walk and passed the kissing bridge. I was so mad at you I barely noticed this carving into the railing, but when I turned around, I looked closer and it reminded me of you.”

Here, Richie freezes. Eddie is looking at him now and is hopefully seeing the terror in his eyes, but must take that as a good sign, because he moves on.

“I was hoping you had put it there. It felt so obvious because of the initials inside but I wasn’t sure so I made a carving myself, a small  **_R_ ** in the hopes you’d get the message one day. I thought it was just because I missed you, but I missed Bill that summer, too. Just, uh, not the same way.” 

Richie doesn’t take the time to process the revelation. Just steps toward Eddie, grabs him by his cute fucking face, and mashes their lips together. All throughout the parts of his life he can remember, Richie thought about Eddie with a halo. Someone to adore, and now that he’s making right on that, he’s back to floating again. The kiss isn't perfect, it is riddled with inexperience and nerves, but the boy on the opposite end of it is. He is smart and genuine and beautiful and dynamite. Richie goes in for more, with no intention of holding back. Eddie was stiff at first but has since relaxed into Richie’s rhythm. 

Richie is ascending. The fears he carried are melting away, the love he has blooms from a sapling to the whole damn flower. Fuck what anyone says to him for the rest of his life, this is the best day he has ever experienced. His high school years are over, and his tongue is down the throat of the world's biggest hypochondriac. Richie is witnessing miracles today. 

They part for air. Richie looks down at Eddie’s face and just laughs.

“Damn, do you practice that shit on your pillow?”

“No, bitch, I have your mom to thank.” 

Richie goes in for another peck when the oven beeps.  _ World’s biggest cock block.  _ He gathers the brownies from the oven and places them on the counter, shooing Eddie’s prying fingers away. 

“Spaghetti man, you’ll burn yourself.” He laughs and places the brownie tin on the stove. “Besides, these aren’t the kind you’re thinking of.” 

Head tilted, Eddie begins to ask “what do you mean” but stops mid-sentence when he realizes exactly what Richie means.

“Ew, Rich, what the hell. You could die, ya know. What if you’re allergic or some shit?” 

In a southern accent, Richie adds “Eddie, bold of you to assume this is my first rodeo.” 

The two laugh and Eddie is still expressing his discomfort as they make their way with the brownies to the truck. Buckled in, Richie starts the truck, puts the cherry red baby in reverse, and pauses. Eddie just looks at him, waiting for some dumb joke. Their faces are wiped clean of the flour so it’s easier to see Richie’s features in the moonlight.

“Hey so, did you mean that, back there? Because if not, I’ll just go back in and eat this whole thing of brownies by myself and watch St. Elmo’s Fire.” 

“Yeah, I meant it. I’d like to do it again, if you’d want to.”

Not a second passes and Richie is on him like a feral animal.  _ It’s mating season here in the Denbrough driveway!  _ The kiss is just as good as the first. Arguably better know that Richie knows the feelings are mutual between the two of them. Eddie’s lips are as soft as they look, and they’re on Richie. He wants to phase into the conversation of putting those lips in other places, but would rather go to hell in a clown car than spoil the moment,

Breaking apart, Richie whispers a thank you, and the two head over the Bill’s house. The ride is quiet despite the soft murmurs of the radio, but Eddie speaks up.

“So, it was you that engraved that heart, right?”

Richie smiles. “Damn right, I’m your secret admirer, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that, trashmouth.” 

The laugh that leaves Richie is so real. “My mouth didn’t seem so trashy a second ago.” 

He gets a smack to the forearm at the comment and laughs when Eddie mumbles a small “shut up.” They’re almost to Ben’s house for the night of their lives. The big evening they have planned will be epic for them all, but Richie’s conclusion for the evening happened before the night even began. The rest of the activities after are just a bonus at this point.

They pull into Bill’s driveway and kill the engine. Before either of them climbs out, they steal a few more kisses to satisfy them throughout the night. Pulling away is hard for Richie considering he has dreamed of this moment since he was thirteen. The Richie then is the same Richie now, only shorter and inexperienced in the joy of kissing Edward Kaspbrak. 

“Hey,” he said as he pulled away from the kiss, “we don’t have to tell them right away, do we? I mean, we can, but I’d rather have you just to myself for a few days.” 

Eddie chuckled, “no, we don’t have to barge in with our homo shit. I don’t want them to lose their appetite. Besides, I don’t know what they’ll think. They probably won’t care but this is still new.”

Richie nods in agreement. 

“Final question: what is this, exactly?” Richie pauses, flustered, but continues, “you don’t have to answer that, but it would be nice to know for my dick’s sake.”

Eddie shakes his head but smiles. “If I could be your boyfriend that would be cool. I think we’ve done our share of longing.”

Richie kisses Eddie again. This time, it’s because he can. Eddie is his boyfriend now and Derry will have to fucking deal with it. After they break apart, Richie explains to Eddie that he had intentions of leaving town tomorrow, but a handsome kid changed his mind via saliva. 

“Ew Rich, you’re fucking gross,” he shrieks and pushes Richie playfully. As the realization kicks in, he adds “so wait, you were just going to leave after we had the party?” 

“Well, the original plan was the party fueling my nerve to confess my undying love to you and then I was going to leave the town in embarrassment and never look back.”

Eddie’s jaw goes slack. He starts flailing his arms and smacking Richie.

“You mean to tell me you were going to confess your love and just leave what the fuck that is cruel did your mother not raise you with manners of some shit?” 

Richie catches his arms to stop the assault. 

“Well, Eds, I gotta go somewhere. I’d be caught dead before staying in this hell hole.”

Eddie nods. Richie releases his grip on Eddie’s hands, but they don't move from each other entirely. The space between them is charged with years’ worth of longing. If the remainder of his friends weren’t in the house beyond the driveway waiting for them, Richie would pull away and take Eddie back to his so they could, you know, catch up. But their friends are waiting for their laughs and their love, and Richie will be damned if the show doesn’t go on. 

“We can talk about this tomorrow, if you want. Because Eddie, if you stay here, I’d do it. I know we haven’t really talked college or anything, but I would fly to the fucking moon if I knew you’d be there.”

Eddie looked at him pointedly. “Planning our life together so soon, Tozier?”

Richie, smooth as ever, just says “I’ve been doing it for years. Nothing different except that I can make it real with some effort.” 

Eddie smiles. “Where would you want to go?” 

Richie beams and rambles about the west coast and Canada and even fucking Europe. He tells Richie of the diversity in these places and how open they are, even sprinkles in how far they are from the death grip of Mrs. K. Eddie is receptive the entire time and smiles when Richie comes back to living in LA and doing comedy like he’s always dreamed. Richie tells him he’s already looked into the jobs and colleges out there and has his Hawaiian shirts already packed to fit in with the crowds of beach goers and tourists. Except, he wants to be a permanent fixture there, wants to watch the sun rise and fall on the Pacific Ocean and marvel at the distance he put between himself and Derry. He assures Eddie he won’t move a damn muscle until he knows Eddie would come with him, and if not, he’ll bite the bullet and stay in this town. 

Richie finally stops and lets Eddie absorb everything. After a few minutes, he adds: “I know I just kissed you like, twenty minutes ago, but those feelings have been there for years. They aged like fine wine, just like my ass.” 

The humor is to soften the blow of rejection, which he feels coming, and Eddie laughs as he was meant to, but says something unplanned in Richie’s head.

“If you want LA, can you give me until the end of the summer to gather the money, and the courage? I’ve always wanted to leave that house, but it’s hard, ya know?”

If Richie is crying, that’s his business. He kisses Eddie, which is only the fourth time, but it already feels reflexive. 

He’s a fucking sap, melting for the boy in his hands at every moment.

“You have the rest of my months, Eddie. You have all of my years.”

Now Eddie is crying, too. Bill’s driveway is now Richie’s new favorite place, aside from being in Eddie’s arms. He’s so happy he might die-- just die right here in this truck with his favorite person and not even be mad about it. He’s wondering how this can be real, how any of this could be real, when there is a tap on the driver’s side window.

They both jump and are only partially relieved to see that it’s Stan. 

“When you two are done being in love, can you bring the alcohol in? We’ve been waiting for like, twenty minutes.” 

Richie and Eddie look at each other wide-eyed and nod. They get out of the truck and help Stan gather the goods for their party. It’s almost 10 o’clock so it’s far past the time they were supposed to be here. As they walk in, Richie asks Stan to keep quiet about whatever he saw.

“Oh please, like we all don’t know already. You two are as transparent as a fucking window.”

Stan opens the door and walks into Bill’s house, leaving Richie and Eddie in utter amazement. Everyone knew, everyone fucking knew except for the two of them.

Upon hearing laughter, they walk into the house together, and are greeted with cheers and the love they were expecting. Their friends don’t dig at them with too many questions, but they do make as many jokes as possible. For once, the Trashmouth is being out trashed, and he’s okay with it. In Bill’s living room sit good drinks, the cutest boy to ever walk the earth, and the best friends anyone could ask for. He wonders when the universe started working in his favor.

“Eds,” Richie leans over and whispers in Eddie’s ear, “when did you carve that  **_R_ ** into the bridge?”

“Same day I reamed your ass out at the arcade.”

So that’s the day some earthly force or some shit blessed the hell out of him. His time is bound to run out considering the mess of flour he and Eddie left at his house, but karma delivered in the ways that mattered. Just like that, he graduated high school and began dating the boy of his dreams. The same boy who is currently cuddled to his right side, like he was made to be there. The same boy that is laughing at some joke Stan said to Ben, and the same boy that is now looking at him with adoring eyes.

_ There it goes,  _ Richie thinks, as his heart grows fonder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading-- you have all of my love!


End file.
